


Gratitude

by gentledusk, littleliontree (gentledusk)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2405513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentledusk/pseuds/gentledusk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentledusk/pseuds/littleliontree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things Lysandre is grateful for in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luzrein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzrein/gifts).



> Inspired by this wonderful art: http://feuillesycamore.tumblr.com/post/99128880660/love-bites

There are many things Lysandre is grateful for in his life.

His work, for one. Being the head of not one, but two of his own businesses is not an easy task, to be sure, but he truly does love both his café and his labs, and the experiences they bring him each day. He loves cooking, loves bringing such simple happiness to people with a single dish or cup. He loves developing new technology, loves bringing people together with the products his labs release. The opportunity of being able to work with not one, but two of his biggest passions on a day-to-day basis is something he is truly blessed to have.

He is also grateful for the company of his Pokémon, of course. They are like family to him, comforting presences in his life, and the fact that they have all chosen to stay by his side throughout everything truly warms his heart. They didn’t have to, but they’d chosen _him_ , and it’s his duty to be the best caretaker and friend he can be for them.

Another thing he is grateful for is Augustine Sycamore.

He’s not exactly sure what it is that drew a man as perfect and beautiful as Augustine Sycamore to a man as flawed and imperfect as himself, but whatever it is, he is fiercely, intensely grateful for it. Augustine is…one of the last traces of beauty in this filthy, imperfect world, an endless well of hope and goodness and pure, unbridled belief in people, in even _him._ Augustine is boundless enthusiasm and endless striving for new discoveries, so full of love and life he’s surprised he doesn’t burst, and somehow, _somehow_ , it’s all completely, utterly _his._

“I’m home!” Augustine calls out as he shuts and locks the front door behind him, grinning as Lysandre comes over to slip the coat off his shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Lysandre murmurs, hanging the coat up neatly and then taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of Augustine’s face. It’s a sight he’ll never get tired of appreciating.

Warm grey eyes visibly soften as they catch the raw emotion, the intensity in Lysandre’s gaze, crinkling a little at the corners as his grin slowly widens into a fond, indulgent smile. “Like what you see?”

“Always,” Lysandre replies. He may not be happy when he sees things like bags under Augustine’s eyes or lines on his face, the inevitable marks of exhaustion from one sleepless night too many spent at the lab, or of the aging of his body that Lysandre is utterly, terrifyingly powerless to stop. But he is always glad to see Augustine’s face. He is always glad to know, to be reminded, that someone so beautiful exists in this world.

And that someone has chosen to be with _him._

Augustine just looks at him like the whole world has melted away, like his whole universe has shrunken down to this moment hanging between the two of them, held up on all these unspoken words and thoughts and feelings that colour their actions towards one another, each one a raindrop in a downpour that threatens to wash them both away. It feels like he’s drowning, drowning in the presence of this man, this man with his hair and his eyes and his damnable _smile_ , this man who’s looking at him like he’s the only thing he can see. It must be natural, then, that he can’t help the way his breath catches and his heart pounds like it’s the first time all over again as Augustine pulls him into a languid kiss that burns him to the core nonetheless. It’s more like the comforting crackle of a hearth fire than a blazing inferno, the wet heat of their tongues sliding against each other like the pull of the tide, gravity pulling them closer and closer still, tingling warmth spreading throughout his body from all the places their bodies touch.

All of this, just for him. His, and only his.

Augustine makes a noise of protest as Lysandre breaks the kiss to move behind him, though it quickly transforms into a startled gasp as Lysandre gently nips at the wonderfully exposed skin of his neck.

“My Pyroar,” Augustine says with a breathless little laugh, biting his lip to stifle a moan as Lysandre gets to work sucking a mark into his skin.

“My Augustine,” Lysandre breathes in Augustine’s ear once he is satisfied with his work, relishing in the full-body shiver he gets as a result. He lowers his lips to Augustine’s neck once again, marking him, _claiming_ him, lavishing him with all the attention his lover deserves, and every moan, every ragged breath, every little stutter of his name is a priceless treasure that he wouldn’t give up for the world.

There are many things he is grateful for in his life. But this, perhaps, is one of those for which he is most grateful of all.


End file.
